Whirlwind - Barrett Tillman [86]
The View from Tokyo
Whatever the challenges facing Mustang pilots, the latter-day samurai defending Japanese airspace had their own serious problems. By early 1945 more than three years of attrition had reversed Japan’s initial advantage in aircrew quality. Beginning with a pool of well-trained, often combat-experienced airmen, Japanese army and navy squadrons enjoyed a period of pilot superiority over their Allied opponents in the Philippines, Java, Burma, and elsewhere. But the edge of that aerial blade had been dulled in the sanguinary battles of 1942. Like every military elite, Japanese aviation lacked depth, and losses could not be replaced in kind. The varsity had to play almost every inning, while increasing numbers of Americans came off the bench, fresh and ready.
Consequently, when American aircraft began appearing in homeland skies in 1944, the emperor’s aviators were poorly prepared or equipped to counter them. Late that year even front-line combat units were showing a precipitous decline in flight hours. Taking one navy fighter squadron as an example, of thirty-three pilots only four were rated Class A—fully combat-ready—and just five had flown more than 500 hours (the median was 315 hours, while nearly half logged fewer than 200). Nevertheless, while fuel lasted most pilots flew thirty to fifty-five hours per month, trying to build badly needed experience.
In contrast, in 1945 many American fighter pilots entering combat had 600 hours in the cockpit, and some boasted over 1,000. The Japanese retained some star performers but the Yanks possessed immense depth across the entire roster.
Still, some Japanese aviators were dangerous by any measure. Arguably the most spectacular of Japan’s airmen was a naval aviator, Lieutenant (jg) Sadaaki Akamatsu. In a thirteen-year flying career he logged more than 6,000 hours, flying from land bases and from carriers. He had entered combat as a veteran fighter pilot, claiming four kills in his first dogfight over China in 1938.
It says much that so rebelliously unconventional a character as “Temei” Akamatsu could thrive in the rigid hierarchy of the Imperial Navy. A functional alcoholic, erratic and often personally violent, he carved a wide swath through the Pacific, from the Philippines to the Dutch Indies and Burma. Along the way he claimed downing squadrons of Allied aircraft, brashly proclaiming himself “King of the Aces.” To the amazement of his colleagues, he was commissioned in 1943.
Returning to Japan, Akamatsu joined the 302nd Naval Air Group at Atsugi. Under close scrutiny at home, he could not indulge himself to the extent he had abroad, but his drinking continued largely unabated. According to legend, when B-29 raids began in 1944, he lounged in a geisha house until informed by phone of inbound bombers. At that point reputedly he drove to the flight line, climbed in his fighter, and, roaring drunk, took off to engage the enemy. Regardless of his wild reputation, everyone acknowledged Akamatsu’s value in the air. Devoid of fear, the thirty-five-year-old ace readily tackled any odds.
On April 19, 1945, flying a Jack, Akamatsu waded into a group of Mustangs. “We spotted the enemy planes over the southern end of Tokyo Bay,” Akamatsu recalled. “Five Raidens raced into the fight. The enemy always kept their tail covered. . . . I hid behind a P-51, there was a blind spot. After following awhile I had the advantage to attack. I fired my guns from very close range and hit its fuel tank. Suddenly it fell on fire.”
The other Mustangs immediately responded, attacking Akamatsu head-on. Unperturbed—he had been in that situation repeatedly—he ignored the tracers swirling around him and responded with his four cannon. He claimed another kill before the